Chapter 204: A Tap, and Sometimes a Strike (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 204: A Tap, and Sometimes a Strike (1)
"Is that bastard out of his mind?"
Amidst the cheers of the Naurilian army, several of Martai's commanders felt a surge of white-hot rage.
"Is he begging for a death wish? Kill him! Kill that bastard right now!"
They knew he was a capable fighter, but damn it all, how could he act so relaxed while retreating? It looked like a deliberate provocation—as if he were mimicking a scene from a heroic epic just to mock them.
How could they not be furious?
"After him!"
"Don't let him inside!"
"Crush him!"
"Stop! Stop right there, you bastard!"
The agitated Martai infantry charged. Just as they reached the perimeter, Encrid and his companions slipped swiftly through the castle gates.
Thrum-thrum-thrum-thrum!
The hands of the Naurilian archers atop the watchtower became a frantic blur.
"Argh!"
"Arrows! Shields! Raise your shields!"
The charging Martai infantry were forced back, their bodies practically decorated with arrows.
"Fire! Keep firing! Hit every last one of them!"
Vengeance’s shout rang out across the battlements. He had been put in charge of a portion of the archers, and he was making the most of it. As the Martai infantry retreated, a massive roar erupted from the walls.
"Waaaaah!"
Having achieved a victory in their very first, unexpected clash, the Border Guard standing army let out wild cheers.
"Bring it on, you cowards!"
"Run if you want to live!"
"My name is Rian! Remember it!"
Taunts mocking the enemy followed one after another. In the heat of the moment, some soldiers even shouted out their own names to the retreating foe.
It wasn't a grand victory in the grand scheme of things, but it felt like they were winning the war before the real battle had even begun. The enemy still possessed overwhelming numbers, and the disparity in strength was clear, yet the soldiers felt like they wouldn't lose.
The man who had created this atmosphere was, of course, Encrid. It was only natural that every eye was fixed on him as he walked back inside with an indifferent expression.
*
The destruction of the mangonels and the exploits of the small enemy force soon reached the commander of the crestless troops. Since the event had unfolded almost directly before his eyes, he had only just received the detailed report.
The commander wore a loosely fitted helmet. Twirling and pulling at his mustache through the gaps in his visor, his eyes gleamed with a cold light.
"What an interesting bastard."
A chillingly cold murderous intent laced his voice. His moniker was the Elite-Catching Blade.
He had originally thought of this as a dull, uninteresting siege, but now he saw people who made his heart race.
At least three.
They were worth killing with his own hands. Methods and means of slaughter flashed through his mind.
A chaotic brawl would be nice.
What if they hid behind their walls to defend? Then besieging and pressuring them would be even more advantageous. It was an incredibly intriguing situation. The mangonels? The raid? The casualties from the ambush? None of that mattered to him.
While the mustachioed Elite-Catching Blade felt that way, the actual commander leading the crestless troops had a slightly different perspective.
"That miserable bastard."
The commander of Viscount Vantra's army was not stupid. He might be narrow-minded, but he had a brain for tactics.
Stopping in the middle of a retreat just to announce his name?
That took extraordinary guts. The man had destroyed eight mangonels, making the Martai forces feel pushed back from the very start, and then retreated only after declaring his name.
The commander focused solely on the facts. Why? Why did he do that? He soon reached a conclusion—the most rational judgment based on his experience and theory.
Is that all he's got?
It was a pathetic trick. A strategy of desperation. What methods could those cornered on the defensive choose? This was one of them: puffing up one's chest. A cheap, petty trick to exaggerate their strength and make the enemy overthink. It was a tactic used because a small elite force could sometimes turn the tide of a battlefield—a warning that they had a few powerful individuals, so the enemy had better be prepared.
But was he actually that strong? Destroying the mangonels was impressive, but...
That was likely his limit.
He had probably pushed himself to the breaking point—no, he definitely had. It was undoubtedly a desperate operation carried out at the risk of his life. They must have been lying in ambush for days before the army arrived, consuming vast resources for this single strike. It was likely a plan set in motion from the moment Martai began its march.
"I believe he is just puffing up his feathers," the commander of Viscount Vantra's army said, organizing his thoughts.
The commander-in-chief of Martai fell into deep thought. After a moment, he nodded. They had reached the same conclusion.
"Tell them to bring more siege weapons," the general ordered.
They were already building more back in their territory. Even hastily made weapons would be better than nothing.
"Repair what can be repaired."
If they fixed them up, they might salvage one or two, though there was nothing they could do about the ones with shattered frames and broken pivots.
That monster.
The image of the bastard who had smashed a siege weapon with his bare fists lingered in the general's mind, bothering him.
He must have taken some kind of drug.
If one ingested the potions brewed by elixirists to hunt giants and Froks, such a feat was possible. A drug that allowed one to exert physical strength beyond their limits for a brief moment. Of course, the side effects were severe—severe enough that if used incorrectly, the user would drop dead the moment the effects wore off.
Narrow-mindedness, prejudice, and preconceptions were like demons; once lodged in the mind, they were not easily exorcised. These men were exactly like that. Even the Elite-Catching Blade, though he rated his opponent's skill highly, estimated it to be just at the level that would make for a satisfying kill.
Everyone was entitled to their own delusions.
"We just need to surround them and starve them out," the commander of Viscount Vantra's army said, clenching his fist.
Since the enemy had puffed themselves up to exaggerate their strength, they would now focus entirely on defending the walls. But what if they still came out? He was also the commander of the cavalry. If the enemy grew frustrated by the harassment and opened the gates, he could simply sweep them away with his riders.
It was a simple but highly effective plan. It didn't matter whether the opponent was bluffing or not.
"Let's do that," the Martai general agreed.
*
From atop the wall, Krais observed the enemy's movements.
They're angry.
They were buzzing, shouting. Despite having eight of their siege weapons destroyed and suffering numerous casualties, they showed anger rather than fear. They weren't lacking in fighting spirit or momentum. Even after witnessing Encrid and his group, they only seethed with rage.
How could that be?
The battle was too short.
The moment of intense clash had been incredibly brief. Even if Encrid possessed impressive combat prowess, very few of them had actually witnessed it firsthand.
And the Captain's parting words were quite something.
On top of that, stopping in the middle of his escape to declare his name and tell them to piss off had worked wonders. If they were the type to piss off just because of that, they wouldn't have marched all the way here in the first place. If it was intentional, it was a perfectly calculated provocation—just enough to make the enemy miscalculate.
If it were me...
Krais briefly put himself in the shoes of the enemy commander. Muttering "if it were me" over and over, he watched the enemy's movements. He could see the enemy forces moving from his vantage point on the wall.
They were flustered, but they had no intention of retreating. Their troops were reorganizing. He also remembered how they had retreated after chasing them at the very end. It was orderly. It meant they were well-trained, elite soldiers. The enemy's fighting spirit remained intact.
They're underestimating us.
It was a confidence born from looking down on their opponents. The reasons for their confidence? There were plenty. They had superior numbers, they were well-trained, and they had received more reinforcements than necessary. On top of that, there was the rumor of Encrid's strength—which, despite Battalion Commander Marcus's deliberate attempts to suppress it, had still managed to spread.
Will they see it as a bluff? Will it look to them like we're puffing up our feathers out of fear?
Perhaps. It wasn't certain, but it seemed highly likely. It would have been nice if the Gilpin Guild were a bit larger so he could know the names and temperaments of the enemy commanders. But then again, for that, they would have to elevate themselves to the level of an actual information guild.
That would double my workload.
The current state was just right. Earning a decent amount of Krona was the sweet spot.
Krais organized his thoughts. The enemy commander had failed to grasp their true strength, and their side possessed an incredibly sharp blade.
I hope they're fools.
Not just skeptical, but blinded by confirmation bias—the kind of bastards who refuse to change their minds once they believe they are right. If so, they wouldn't even need a grand strategy.
This was all the magic wrought by a single whim of Encrid's. It was thanks to him casually stepping out, smashing the mangonels, and returning just like that. If he had fought longer and revealed his full strength, the story would have been entirely different.
But did the Captain intend all of this?
Well, he could just ask.
"What are you doing?" asked Vengeance, who had been commanding the archers.
Seeing Krais muttering to himself made him look as if he were possessed by some evil spirit. Vengeance hated ghosts and evil spirits; they were the sole reason he lost sleep at night.
"Just organizing my thoughts," Krais replied.
"Is that so?"
Vengeance doubted that Krais organizing his thoughts would change anything. In reality, however, the future of the battlefield was taking shape inside Krais's head. A scenario for victory was unraveling thread by thread in his mind. Even so, he had no particular intention of speaking it aloud. Krais figured everyone would handle things on their own anyway.
*
"You alright?" Rem asked as they entered the Border Guard fortress.
Encrid scanned his own body. Was he injured anywhere? No. It wasn't even a situation where he could have gotten hurt. It had been a light warm-up.
And why wouldn't it be? He had only carried out the hastily devised plan because it seemed feasible. Of course, the Martai side assumed this was an ambush prepared over several days with heavily invested resources, but the reality was completely different. He had simply gone out for a bit of exercise because he felt like he could pull it off.
"I think you hurt your head," Rem said with a deadpan, serious face. There was no trace of a smile.
Beside him, Ragna's gaze shifted to Encrid, and the same went for Audin.
"Do you have a fever?" Finn asked at last.
Encrid felt a pang of sorrow at their utter lack of romance. He knew exactly why they were reacting this way. It was because he had declared his name at the end.
"I felt a surge of heroic spirit," Encrid said casually, having nothing to hide.
Instead of teasing him as usual, Rem let out an uncharacteristic "Hoh," pursing his lips in admiration.
"Wooooah!"
Cheers erupted over the heads of Encrid's returning unit. Having gone out and completely wrecked the enemy's siege weapons, such a reaction was only natural. Amidst the cheers, Ragna muttered, "Heroic spirit..." falling into deep thought.
Encrid had literally just acted on a whim.
Up ahead, Krais, who had descended from the gallery at some point, came into view.
"So, provoking them and planting a demon in the enemy's mind was all inten—ah, never mind. No, it wasn't. Then why did you say your name?"
So many people were asking just because he had declared his name once. Encrid repeated the same words.
"Heroic spirit. And because I felt like I could."
"That's a bit... well, yes. I see. That's cool."
Passing Krais, he saw the group of allied commanders.
"You destroyed all the siege weapons?" Marcus said.
Was it just his imagination, or was there a faint, lingering smirk on Marcus's face? Encrid nodded calmly.
"Good!"
That was all.
"My name is Sinar. If you come closer now, you can have me."
The elf company commander slinked over and whispered. Did she never grow tired of these elven jokes?
"Did you hurt your head?" Encrid asked.
"No, I'm the picture of health. Or is a frail, beautiful girl more your type?"
Was there any point in continuing this conversation? Encrid shook his head and walked away.
"Do not let your guard down!" Marcus encouraged the troops from the front. "We will win!"
The timing was perfect. It was right after Encrid, the hero of the hour, had returned. Shouts echoed. The war had only just begun, but morale was sky-high. This was the first day on the battlefield.
Right after the next day began.
"You're going out today too, right?" Krais approached and asked.
Encrid had just finished his morning training. Even in this situation, he was training. Some of those watching shook their heads in disbelief. Of course, those who knew Encrid well just took it in stride.
"Where?"
"Outside."
"Why?"
Krais blinked. "We have to rile them up today too."
When Encrid stared at him, wondering what he meant, Krais asked instead, "Did the Battalion Commander not say anything?"
Encrid shook his head. Marcus had only told him to rest well and fight well again. He did say to ask whenever he needed anything. There was no mention of Encrid going out on his own to execute a random ambush. Part of it was because the hastily devised plan had yielded great results, but since Marcus had granted him that kind of authority in the first place, it was only right that he had nothing to say.
"Act contrary to what the opponent thinks and intends."
Krais declared in a clear, ringing voice. Encrid stared blankly at his loud, big-eyed subordinate.
"It is the basis of strategy and the art of war."
And?
When Encrid asked with his eyes, Krais spoke again.
"Their siege weapons are destroyed. They will be thinking of a long-term war. Repairing their weapons, bringing in new supplies, and simply surrounding and threatening the Border Guard is advantageous for Martai. Because they've secured a solid supply line behind them."
Then, what was today's task? Krais was baffled that no one had brought up what seemed so obvious to him.
"We have to harass their supply lines."
The basis of strategy and the art of war: starve them out. While they couldn't actually starve them, they could certainly make them anxious every time they tried to fill their bellies.
It was easier said than done. Unless the enemy was stupid, they would obviously be on high alert. However, they had the crazy company.
"An irregular force operates outside the enemy's expectations."
They numbered fewer than ten. They could strike and slip away just like that.
"Meow."
Esther, who had been nowhere to be seen all night, let out a cry from beside them and stared intently at Encrid. Having heard all of Krais's words, Encrid nodded. It didn't sound like a bad idea. His instincts were good, so he judged it was worth a try.
"Want to come along?" Encrid asked Esther idly. Esther pushed herself up and pressed close to his side.
Thus, their next operation was decided. The first day was for the siege weapons; the second day would target the supply lines. Naturally, they decided to go at night.
"Krais, go report to the higher-ups. Tell them we're going out for a night stroll."
It was right after sunset. Encrid began gathering his gear. Beside him, Rem, Ragna, Audin, and Finn stepped forward as well, but...
"Audin, you..."
"Yes, brother. I shall stay behind."
Audin's massive build was far too conspicuous. He left Finn behind as well. He also told Ragna to sit this one out. Finn could be in danger, and Ragna might get lost. He couldn't afford to let Ragna earn the nickname 'lost child of the battlefield.'
"Rem, Sachsen."
"Fine by me. Good. We don't really need the stray cat, but whatever. We can always make him carry the bags."
"It would be better to leave the stupid barbarian behind."
Though they were still bickering, there was no one more reliable than these two when stepping onto the battlefield.
"We'll be back."
Encrid set off as if he were just heading to the market to buy some bread.
And when he returned, he actually brought back bread.
"This was pretty good," Encrid said upon his return, and everyone marveled at the taste of the bread.
It was truly delicious. Naturally, it was something he had plundered from the enemy's supply depot.